


It’s In My Roots, In My Veins (In My Blood and I Stain)

by MYuzuki



Series: A Motley Little Crew of Dysfunction [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: (both Jason's but this will have a happy ending I swear), (it's not a batfam fic unless there's family drama lol), (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Lazarus Pit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, TigerMom!Talia, Trauma, man I really suck at tags sorry guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYuzuki/pseuds/MYuzuki
Summary: Sometimes, memories are the worst form of torture.Things are going well enough for Jason, right up until a flare-up of Lazarus energy leaves him struggling with both old memories and his own volatile emotions. But an unexpected visitor arrives to help him through it, and somehow ends up helping him deal with a little gang problem as well.





	1. There Was Something In The Water (Now That Something’s In Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another installment of A Motley Crew of Dysfunction! This particular ficlet was partially inspired by Lazy Writing Prompts @353: Sometimes, memories are the worst form of torture, with some additional inspiration from rpglady76, who always gives me the best ideas during our talks.
> 
> In this case, we were talking about Talia and how I head-canon her as probably pretty protective of Jason, given the lengths she went to for the sake of helping him. So, like, tiger-mom!Talia (thank you again rpglady76~) but the League of Assassins version, lol. Talia being fierce in general and protective of Jaybird specifically doesn't really start to show up until the end of Chapter 2 (with a much greater emphasis to come in the third and last chapter), but I'm hoping you guys will still like this ficlet regardless of the slow start. XD
> 
> So basically, this ficlet was the result of me smashing two ideas together and cackling over the ensuing mess, haha. ;D 
> 
> The title of this fic comes from Adele’s song River Lea; the individual chapter titles come from various song lyrics as well. Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> (Also, I once again neglected to thoroughly proofread, so if you spot any typos or spelling errors feel free to let me know, lol. XD)

**Chapter 1: There Was Something In The Water (Now That Something** **'s In Me)**

* * *

 

Jason can tell it's going to be a rough week when he wakes up one morning with not just a low-key headache but also a knot of aimless anxiety and tension in his gut. There's also something more, a thrumming of acidic energy just under the surface of his skin that recognizes all too well.

It brings to mind memories of the Lazarus Pit, echoes of pain and agony and fire in his veins as some power beyond his understanding tears him apart to put him back together again.

Of all the things that could have happened this week, a flare-up of Lazarus energy in his body is not something he even remotely wants to deal with. These hellish episodes have been getting less and less frequent as the years have gone by, but it seems like he hasn't escaped from them permanently yet.

The most frustrating part is that he's gone through it enough times to understand _logically_  what's happening, but there's still no way for him to effectively cope with the inevitable mood swings that plague him when it happens. Not to mention the trauma-laced flashbacks that crop up when he least expects it. Oh, and the way his body goes back and forth between freezing cold and feeling like he;s just been electrocuted, can't forget that.

"What a fun fucking day this will be," he mutters under his breath as he swings out of bed and treks into the kitchen, determined to at least try to function normally. (He knows already he's going to fail in the long run, but he's never in his life conceded defeat to anyone or anything without a fight, and he sure as hell isn't starting now).

He's halfway through a bowl of cornflakes when his phone goes off. A quick glance at the screen tells him that it's Tim, sending him some information on a drug smuggling ring that's trying to get a foot in the door with the Galante Crime Family.

But before Jason can do more than make a mental note to pay a visit to Tobias Whale later and thank Tim for the tip-off, he's metaphorically slapped upside the head with a sharp wave of anger that stabs through his chest like a poisoned blade.

The anger tastes sickeningly familiar, like bitterness and jealousy and rage all rolled into one, and it's that particular flavor of anger he used to associate specifically with Tim, back when he'd first returned to Gotham after being resurrected only to see that he'd been replaced.

He's long since buried that wrath and moved forward, though, so the wave of fury coursing through him is entirely unexpected. Or would be, if he couldn't feel that tinge of acid green coloring his every thought, poisoning every beat of his heart.

 _One of_ _ **those**_ _days, then_ , he thinks, torn between resignation and frustration. And more anger, of course, but letting himself acknowledge that anger when the Lazarus taint is running so strongly is practically asking for disaster, so he stuffs that burst of fury down as well. Because if a simple text message from Tim is enough to set him off, things don't bode well for the rest of the day. Possibly even the next few days.

He shoves his cornflakes away and very carefully redirects his thoughts, focusing instead on how to best arrange a meeting with Tobias Whale.

But that seems to trigger a swirl of green-tinted darkness inside of him as well; he can feel old memories lurking at the back of his mind, echoes of a long-ago meeting with different drug runners. Disjointed images flicker behind his eyes, his own voice buzzing in his ears.

" _It's my meeting,"_  he'd told them, an AK-47 held comfortably in one hand.  _"I called you."_

" _I am offering you a deal,"_  he'd said.  _"I will be running the drug trade from now on."_

" _In return, you will have total protection from both the Black Mask and Batman."_

" _Make no mistake,"_  he'd told them after they'd tried rejecting his proposal and he'd had to whip out that bloodstained gym bag full of decapitated heads.  _"I'm not_ _ **asking**_ _you to kick in with me, I'm_ _ **telling**_ _you."_

He shakes his head to dispel the memories, gripping the edge of the kitchen table hard enough for the sharp edges to dig into his palms with a stinging sharpness that grounds him the present just enough to shut the memories away.

Yeah, today is going to suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this first chapter turned out to be a bit on the shorter side, so sorry about that. ^_^; In any case, the middle chapter coming up next will be MUCH longer and also has the added benefit of Talia showing up to fuss at Jason. So yay for that! :)


	2. Every Story Has Its Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone for the tremendous support as always! :D I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

**Chapter 2: Every Story Has Its Scars**

* * *

 

Jason spends the rest of that first day in self-imposed isolation within his loft, because he knows himself well enough to understand that going out with his thoughts tinged Lazarus green isn't something that will end well for anybody.

He doesn't even bother answering his phone when his various family members or friends call or message him; he even goes so far as to turn it off completely after Tim sends a text asking if he'd like to meet up for lunch later to go over the details of that Galante Family drug fiasco, which isn't something he'd do in normal circumstances.

But this is far from a normal situation; he hasn't had an episode this bad in a long time, and he's not sure he can trust himself to not slip.

And with memories of his first fight against Tim back in Titans Tower bouncing around in his skull (along with echoes of  _"I was here first,"_  and  _"They said I wasn't tough enough to be Robin, but they say you are,"_  with  _"You can't be that good,"_  tossed in for good measure) Jason knows deep in his gut that seeing his younger brother face to face right now is  _not_  a good idea. That particular sort of bad idea that usually ends in unnecessary bloodshed, no less.

Yeah, it's better for everyone if he just shuts himself away for a few days until the worst of this Lazarus surge subsides.

(Jason feels absurdly proud of himself for at least being able to do that much; he might not be able to handle these hateful fucking surges of Lazarus energy well when they crop up, but at least he can remove himself from the equation enough to keep everyone else out of harm's way.

Old Jason, back when he'd first come back to the city, wouldn't have been able to do that; that Jason might not have even  _cared_  enough to try. Back then all he'd wanted was to tear them all apart, to make them feel even just a fraction of the pain he was suffering through.

He's not that person anymore, though; he does care, even with the acid-tinged wrath poisoning his body and soul, which is why he sends his brother a thanks-but-not-today reply and powers his phone down.)

So he does his best to find ways to distract himself fro the thrum of violence that's trapped just under his skin itching to get out. First he works on cleaning the kitchen in his loft, not just washing his dishes and cleaning out the fridge but extending his efforts to scrubbing the linoleum floor by hand and re-organizing his spice cupboard as well. He even dismantles the busted garbage disposal and repairs it, something he'd been planning to do eventually but hadn't had the time (or sufficient motivation) for before now.

(As it turns out, nothing motivates a good spring cleaning like wanting to avoid a murderous rampage. Who knew?)

Once all that's done with, he tries to settle down on the couch with a book, but he's too high-strung right now for it to be a feasible option despite all the energy he  _should_  have burned through working in the kitchen. So he turns on the TV instead and watches a blacksmithing show while sharpening his own knives, very deliberately steering his thoughts away from  _using_  those blades on someone.

Ultimately, he manages to keep himself confined to his loft without serious incident for the whole day (he'd half -expected one of his siblings to show up demanding answers as to why he was blowing everyone off, but thankfully they'd kept their distance for whatever reason) and decides that getting some sleep is probably something he needs to do. His self-control won't be as good if he's drop-dead exhausted, after all.

He goes to bed twitchy, restless, and with a simmering sort of tension lurking in his body. He really hopes that, despite the odds stacked against him, the next day will be at least a little bit better.

* * *

The next day is not better.

He wakes up at two in the morning with the taste of blood in his mouth and the sound of the Joker's insane laughter bouncing around inside of his skull.

He vaults out of bed with his heart pounding erratically in his chest and spends the next three hours field-stripping and cleaning his spare firearms.

It doesn't actually do much in the way of calming him down, bit it does give him something to focus on at least and helps to keep him from obsessing and hyper-focusing on the ever-infuriating fact that the Joker (despite everything) is still fucking alive.

( _"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me,"_  pings around inside his skull until he sort of wants to bang his head against the closest hard surface just to knock the memories out.)

He finishes cleaning his back-up guns and for a brief moment has to struggle against the very strong impulse to take them and pay a little visit to a certain cell in Arkham Asylum. Eventually self-preservation wins out over that red-hot burn for revenge that he's kept shunted away in the back of his mind for the last few years and he carefully stows his spare guns back away in their hidey holes within the loft.

Obviously, though, Day Two of this Lazarus surge is going no better than Day One (if anything, it's going worse, because remembering his death in any way, shape, or form is not at all conducive to staying calm and lucid) so whatever dim hopes he'd had for rejoining the world outside of his loft fade away, buried under another wave of irritation an frustration and rage.

He spends the rest of the day binge-watching telenovelas and trying not to crawl out of his own skin as echoes of Ethiopia flicker through his mind at the slightest provocation.

(Manic laughter echoes in his ears during a commerical break, accompanied by more viciously taunting words. _"Come on, birdboy! You're not going to sleep on me already, are you? The party's just got started!"_ )

He hasn't felt this helpless in a while, and it's twice as infuriating because it's his own body betraying him by letting the Lazarus taint overwhelm his sense of self.

He'd fought so hard to find himself again, too, and now it feels an awful lot like he's backsliding.

And then, to his immense surprise, Talia shows up on Day Three.

"You missed our weekly check-in," is what she says by way of greeting when he finds her sitting at his kitchen table the next day, calmly buttering a fresh piece of toast.

(It was the telltale ding of the toaster that had first woken him, hyper-vigilant and paranoid as he was right now. Of all the possible scenarios that had sprung to mind, though, Talia-in-the-kitchen somehow hadn't been on the list.)

He struggles to get his sleep-addled and taint-muddled thoughts together enough to form a coherent reply and eventually manages to wake up and focus enough say, "Shit, did I?" with genuine surprise coloring his tone, because, "What day is it?"

Talia arches a single eyebrow at him, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes are flickering over his appearance, undoubtedly taking in the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his muscles. "Saturday," she replies, tone still even but something almost like concern darkening her gaze. "Our call was scheduled for Thursday," she adds, expression neutral.

Well, shit. Jason had only been thinking of how many days he'd been dealing with the Lazarus surge; somewhere along the way he'd apparently lost track of the actual days themselves.

"Sorry," he says, the word coming out easily because despite everything that had happened before and since, Talia was still the person who'd help bring him back, really back. And yeah, that also meant she was technically responsible for the lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit but given the givens he couldn't blame her. He'd either still be brain dead or back to being really dead if not for her actions, and that's not even counting the help she'd provided for him after the Pit.

She'd also shown herself to be strangely compassionate these last few years, at least inasmuch as an assassin princess could be compassionate. She called to check in on him once a week, ostensibly to make sure he wasn't a risk to Damian but inevitably their conversations always drifted into semi-normal talk about recent missions and what books they'd read lately.

(Jason wouldn't say so anywhere outside of his own head, but Talia's actions lately felt almost…maternal. It brings to mind older memories, memories that he's not entirely sure are real. Talia's there, in those memories, but everything is so blurry that he has no way of sorting it all out. It's from before the Pit, he thinks; after he exhumed himself from his own fucking grave, but before the Pit actually finished the job of restoring him all the way.

Even the clearest recollection he has is a jumbled mess; he can hazily recall sitting on a cliff above the ocean, and hearing Talia say something. He's still not sure of exactly what it was she'd been saying, but he has a feeling it might have been something to do with Bruce, because the strongest part of his recollection is a feeling of deep and piercing sadness paired with a sharp pang of loneliness; whatever Talia had said that day, it had made even a mentally impaired version of Jason want his father.

In any case, Jason and Talia make a point of staying in touch with each other. It's not something Jason's bothered to disclose to his other fmily members, partially because he knows they wouldn't approve but largely because it's none of their damn business. It's possible that Damian knows that Talia checks in on him because she does the exact same thing to Damian, too, but Jason's never brought it up and neither has Damian so that's pretty much that.

"I didn't mean to blow off your call," he tells Talia now, opting for honesty because that's what's always worked best with them. "I haven't…been feeling like myself these last couple days."

Talia narrows her eyes at him, and anyone who doesn't know her well might mistake it for a threatening look but Jason knows her better than that; she's assessing him, taking note of the rigidity in the way he's holding himself and the tightness in his jaw as he tries to put a lid on the acidic energy that swimming through his veins. "…Pit energy?" she says at last, her voice so soft that it's almost inadubile.

Jason considers deflecting, but honestly at this point it'd be a useless effort. So he gives a jerky nod instead. "Yeah," he admits. "Started a couple days ago. Nothing I haven't dealth with before," he tacks on with a tired smirk. "It's just been a while since I had an episode this potent and I wasn't expecting it, so it's thrown me a bit…off-kilter."

"Off-kilter," Talia echoes, disbelief and worry warring for dominance in her voice. "Jason, you look like you've been hit by a truck."

"Thanks," he says wryly. "I appreciate that, really. Gives my self-confidence a good solid boost."

Talia rolls her eyes, and it reminds Jason so much of Damian that he can't help but chuckle under his breath. "You know what I mean," she responds, fondly exasperated. "Now, tell me: when did you eat last?"

Jason blinks at her, vaguel stupefied by the question. "Uh…yesterday, I think? Maybe?" He racks his brain but honestly can't recall; he remembers the sound of the Joker's laughter echoing around in his head and trying to drown that out with melodramtic telenovelas and the scent of metal and gun oil. "Maybe not," he admits at last, because although the previous day's events are mired in that hateful green tint that fogs up all his thoughts he's pretty sure he'd remember eating, and he doesn't.

Talia wrinkles her nose at him, rolls her eyes again, and then passes him the plate of toast she'd been assembling. "Here," she says. "Eat."

Jason makes a face at her commanding tone but he knows better than to argue with Talia when she gets That Look on her face so relents with ill grace. "I'm fine," he grumbles, but picks up a piece of toast anyway and nibbles on the edge of it. "This shit'll pass in a few days and then I'll be right as rain. You don't need to worry."

"You're notorious for not looking after yourself properly," is Talia immediate response. "Of course I need to worry. Now shush and eat your breakfast." She gets up to retrieve a jug of juice from the fridge and pours him a glass.

Jason stares at the glass at she sets it down in front of him. "I don't remember buying juice this week," he remarks pointedly.

"Because you didn't buy it," Talia replies. "I anticipated that you might be running low on supplies since you haven't ventured outside fo this apartment within the last few days, so I took the initiative to re-stok your pantry myself."

Jason chokes on his toast. "You  _went grocery shopping for me_? Who the hell are you and what the fuck have you done with the real Talia?"

His adoptive assassin mother smacks him upside the head and gives him a decidedly unimpressed look. "Jason," is all she says, but it's in that reproving tone he knows all too well. He has a feeling that if he was a decade younger (and if they were both ordinary people instead of an assassin and a vigilante) she'd be threatening to ground him.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, rasiing his hands in surrender. "I appreciate you coming here to take care of me. Really, I do. I know what it means for you to come to Gotham, and I'm grateful that you came all this way just for me. I just…I'm not good at showing it, you know that."

Her severe expression softens. "I know," she assures him. "But you are jsut as much a son to me as Damian is, regardless of your origins of birth." She gives him a small smile. "In any case, you will need someone to watch over you until the worst of the Lazarus surge has passed. I have extensive experience with the effects of the PIt," (because of her psychotic father, they both knew; but she didn't seem to want to bring Ra's into it and Jason was more than happy to go along with that so he let it slide as well), "so it's only logical for me to remain here until you've recovered enough to to function again."

Jason's brain stalls out on him again (which is a damn shame, because he'd actually started to feel a bit more stable since discovering Talia in his kitchen) and he's left floundering for a good response for what feels like an eternity. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" is what he finally manages to blurt out, because  _what?!_

She huffs out an exasperated sigh but tempers it with a reluctantly fond smile, the expression itself a reminder of how different Talia is with the few people she cares for. " You heard me just fine, Jason Todd; don't pretend you didn't. I'm staying here in Gotham until you're recovered from this Lazarus surge. Don't argue," she said, cutting off the protests he was about to voice. "We both know that you should have someone with you until the worst of the taint's effects subside, and I truly a teh best choice. Not only do I have experience with it, but I am not likely to be injured even if you do lose control of yourself."

Jason gives her the dubious look her assertion deserves but decides not ot debate the point; he's not all that eager to find out who would win an actual fight between the two of them, after all. So instead he says, "The Bats won't like having you in town," because it's the unfortunate truth; outside of Damian, his family more or less loathes Talia with varying degrees of intensity due to both her League ties and her various machinations throughout the years.

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Talia replies, looking amused now. "I'll be long departed from this city by the time they even realize I came in the first place."

"And what about Bruce?" Jason retorts. "He's not as slow on the uptake as some of the others, he'll realize before they will that you're here."

Some sort o strong emotion flickers across Talia's face before she visibly buries it, a skill no doubt acquired from a lifetime of being a master assassin. "I did not come to Gotham for Bruce," she reminds him pointedly. "I came to Gotham to help my eldest son recover from an illness. If Bruce takes exception to that, well…" She gives a sharp little smile. "I have a few things I've been meaning to say to him in any case. I would relish an opportunity to share some of my thoughts with him."

(Jason makes an executive decision to keep them on opposite sides of the city if at all possible. And barring that, invest in a new suit of body armor for safety's sake. Because Talia might still love Bruce, in her own way, but that didn't mean she wouldn't kick his ass to hell and back if she had a solid reason to do so. And Jason might not be privy to her reasons, but he didn't doubt her skill or motivation.)

"...I'm going back to bed," he decides after a moment of further contemplation. He's too tired to deal with much of anything right now, and while talking with Talia had somehow helped to quell the worst of the acid fire coursing through his body there's still a lingering burn in his veins that makes him itch to have weapon in his hand.

"I'll bring you some soup later," Talia says, her tone completely unflustered, as if this is a completely normal thing for them. "Can't have you wasting away to nothing, after all, it would be disgraceful."

Jason just huffs out a short sigh, meanders out of the kitchen, and flops down onto his bed the second he's within arm's reach of it. "What the fuck," he groans into his pillow.

But despite his confusion and worry of Talia being not just here in Gotham but here in his loft, he somehow falls asleep almost immediately, and through some miracle manages to sleep through the night without catapulting awake from a blood-freezing memory-turned-nightmare.

(Later, he will wonder if Talia's presence had somehow helped him to subconsciously relax even in spite of the Lazarus taint flaring up inside of him, but for now he's content to simply take the win and get some damn sleep.)


	3. I Will Overcome All of This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so welcome to the third and final chapter of this ficlet! As always, I'm blown away by the great feedback I've received; you guys are the best. <3
> 
> Also, an interesting factoid: this chapter is, on its own, as long as the first two chapters combined. ^_^;

**Chapter 3: I Will Overcome All of This**

* * *

On Day Five, Jason actually feels well enough to go back out on patrol. And the timing couldn't be better, because he's just received a tip from an informant about the Galante Crime Family accepting a partnership with that drug smuggling ring after all and he needs to nip that shit in the bud before Tobias Whale starts to get any big ideas in that crime lord brain-pan of his.

Well, maybe the timing could have been a little better, because Talia hasn't left Gotham yet. Which means that she's accompanying him on his patrol, because he had just spent the last four days both looking and feeling like death warmed over (hah) and she was (in her own words) "worried that you'll embarrass me by pitching headfirst off a skyscraper if I'm not keeping an eye on you".

If Jason didn't know that she really was concerned for his well-being, he might have taken offense to her wording at the time. As things stand, he knows better than to argue the point and allows to her tail him through the city with only a small amount of grumbling.

Which is how he finds himself bounding across rooftops in the East side with Ra's al Ghul's daughter shadowing him like the overprotective mother-hen assassin that she is.

They start off by hitting one of Tobias Whale's newer warehouses; Talia's less than thrilled about leaving each and every one of the gangsters alive, but she manages to refrain from killing blows because she knows that any deaths associated with one of the Red Hood's busts will inevitably cause him trouble with the Bats.

(He can't help but notice how she's not really holding herself back from doing them grievous bodily harm, though. Not that he's complaining; he'd much rather have the number of criminals in the area drop thanks to some impromptu amputations and spinal injuries than have to deal with all these morons again in another few months.

Besides, if he pushes Talia too hard about her methods she'll give him That Look. And it's not like he's in any position to nitpick about violent fighting techniques anyway, so it's better for everyone if he just lets it be.)

The first warehouse turns out to be not the one they need; it has an overabundance of illegal weapons and few crates of fake antiquities (Talia in particular seems particularly disgusted by the blatantly fake Chinese pottery with its shoddy craftsmanship) but no drugs at all.

They move on to another warehouse about five blocks down from the first, and while they uncover (and thoroughly dismantle) a counterfeiting operation that had been about to flood Gotham with fake currency, they still don't find the drugs that Jason's been tipped off about.

"Are we planning to storm every single warehouse Whale owns in the hopes of locating his new drug running operation," Talia asks once they truss up the counterfeiters and literally light the rest of it on fire, "or is there some way we could possibly narrow things down a bit?" She brushes a smudge of ash off of her cheek absentmindedly and fixes him in an expectant look.

Jason looks back for a long moment, determined to hold out under the weight of that stare.

...And then caves when Talia arches a single perfect eyebrow.

"Alright, fuck, fine," he grumbles, and activates his communications system. "This is Red Hood for Red Robin. Red Robin, you out there?"

There's a moment of radio silence, nothing to answer his query at first but a whole lot of radio static.

And then suddenly his earpiece is exploding with exclamations from not just Tim but his entire fucking family.

"Little Wing, where have you been?" Nightwing exclaims, his voice so loud it almost makes Jason's ears hurt. "We've been trying to contact you for five days!"

"Yeah, asshole, I thought you said you were going to be better about being in touch!" Steph says, her tone somehow both accusatory and relieved all at once.

"We were worried," Cass says, and her voice is soft over the comms but it still manages to just about knock him flat with a sharp pang of guilt.

(Out of everyone else, he's always hated upsetting Cassandra the most; not only could she snap him in half with virtually no effort whatsoever but she was just so sincere and sweet underneath her five-foot tall ass-kicking exterior that upsetting her felt an awful lot like kicking a fluffy kitten.

A fluffy kitten raised as one of the world's deadliest killers, but still.)

Even so, Jason needs to choose his words carefully.

"I'm sorry I freaked you guys out," he settles for at last, because  _I'm sorry I dropped out of contact_  would be a lie; he'd done it deliberately, after all, to protect them from himself mid-Lazarus surge. Because he hadn't been sure enough of his self-control to know for certain that he wouldn't snap and try to hurt them. So no matter how upset they were, he couldn't be sorry for keeping them safe. "Something, ah…came up, and I had to hunker down for a few days."

"What do you mean, 'something came up'?" Steph asks immediately. "What sort of something?"

Dick's response is virtually instantaneous as well. "Are you in trouble, Little Wing? You know we've got your back if you need us."

Jason appreciates the sentiment, he really does, but, "The only one I need right is Red Robin. Is he not patrolling tonight, or-"

"No, I'm here," Tim says suddenly, sounding faintly winded as he interjects himself into the conversation. "Sorry I didn't respond before, I was dealing with a gas station robbery. What did you need?"

"Remember that intel you sent me about that new drug operation that the Galante Family was thinking about partnering up with? Turns out that they moved a little faster than we anticipated; they're up and running as we speak, so I need to figure out which of Whale's properties this shit's based out of so I can shut it down."

Tim makes a considering sound. "Alright," he said after a moment. "Let me see what I can dig up."

"Thanks," Jason said. "I owe you one."

Tim makes a vague noise of assent and Jason can practically envision the intense look on his face as he taps away at his wrist computer, sorting through who knows how much information.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity but is probably only six or seven minutes, Tim comes through for him. "Okay, I can't be totally sure since I didn't have time to totally tear apart his financial records, hut all the signs so far point to it being that place at the end of Newport Street."

"What, the old cannery?" Jason snorts and shakes his head. "Unbelievable. A drug ring operating out of a cannery. How fucking stereotypical are they trying to be? Does Whale just pick ideas out of crime documentaries or something? Sheesh."

Tim (probably wisely) neglects to respond to his tirade in any way, shape, or form. "Do you want some back-up for the bust?" he ask instead. "My reports indicate that Whale's got a small army of thugs protecting the place; looks like a lot of guys, even for you."

Jason considers the offer for all of two and a half seconds before catching the look on Talia's face. "Nah, I'll be fine." He's confident that between him and Talia they can handle the thugs with ease; there's not going to be much left of Tobias Whale's new drug ring after tonight aside from a stack of employee hospital bills.

"You sure?" Tim asks, tone blatantly dubious.

"Very sure," Jason says firmly. He's pretty damn certain that the Bats and Talia wouldn't play well together if tossed into the same fight, and honestly he's not in the mood for any unnecessary family drama at the moment. He just wants to deal with the drug operation and then go home and rest; he may have finally shaken off the last of the Lazarus surge but he's still tired and nothing sounds better than lounging on the couch with Talia and watching soap operas for the rest of the night.

"Okay, then," Red Robin replies, still sounding somewhat uncertain. "We'll be around if you need us."

"Thanks for the offer, but I won't need you for back-up tonight," Jason assures him, chuckling under his breath when he notices Talia's sharp but pleased smile. "See you around, Red Robin."

Tim echoes the farewell and then disappears from the comms, presumably returning to his patrol like the others had once Jason had not-so-subtly ejected them from the conversation.

"So," Talia says, watching him as he checks his guns over, "an old cannery."

"The one on Newport Street," Jason confirms, rolling his eyes. "Such a cliche, right? I swear, some of these idiots really must just pick ideas out of newspaper bylines. It's embarrassing. As a former crime lord myself, I am embarrassed for them. Seriously, the second-hand embarrassment is crippling."

Talia is out and out  _grinning_  now, and it makes her look about ten years younger (not that she ever really looked that old to begin with, most likely a benefit of the Lazarus Pit). "It truly is a criminal disgrace," she agrees slyly, and it takes Jason a moment before he catches her play on words.

"Oh, fuck, not you, too!" he says, groaning but half-laughing, too. "Why am I doomed to have a family so dead-set on making terrible puns?"

"You say that like you don't make your own fair share of them," Talia shoots back, eyes dancing with mischief.

Jason just grumbles under his breath. "No comment," he says, and then starts racing across the rooftops towards Newport Street in an attempt to abort that particular line of conversation.

The echo of Talia's laughter that follows him across the rooftops just as she herself does tells him that she's well aware of his blatant dodge of the topic, but she doesn't prod at him about it. Instead, she seems content to simply tail him to the cannery and crouch with him on the edge of an adjacent building once they get there.

"What do you think?" Jason asks cheerfully once they spend just enough time watching to confirm that, yes, this is the place housing the Galante Crime Family's new drug ring. "Should be sneak in like the ninjas we are, or go in guns blazing?"

Talia seems to consider the question for a moment, tilting her head with a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she turns to him with a gleam in her eye and a smirk on her lips. "I spend more than enough time sneaking around in the shadows already, don't you think?"

Jason grins. "Guns blazing it is, then."

* * *

Storming the cannery and dismantling the drug operation turns out to be almost embarrassingly easy. Sure, there are a lot of thugs guarding the place and the drugs inside, but compared to him they're rank amateurs. And compared to Talia, they're just plat out pathetic.

All in all, it takes them only about thirty minutes to both destroy the drugs and deal with the thugs. And for one brief and glorious moment, Jason thinks that they're all done for the night and they can go back to his loft and spend the rest of the night bickering about soap operas together.

Unfortunately, his hopes for a peaceful evening go up in a puff of smoke the second he and Talia emerge from the cannery to see Batman waiting for them in the alleyway.

 _Well, shit._  "Hey, B," Jason says, aiming for casual but probably missing it by a mile. "Fancy meeting you here. Not really your usual part of town," he adds pointedly, because it really isn't. Batman doesn't typically patrol the East side of Gotham anymore, not since Jason returned and claimed the Bowery and Crime Alley as his turf, and this stupid cannery qualifies as part of that territory. Occasionally the other Bats will pass through the area to lend Jason a hand, but Bruce doesn't often come himself unless it's an emergency; he's too wary of breaking the fragile peace they've got between them, Jason suspects.

Batman gives him a long look and says nothing before turning his gimlet stare to Talia, who looks distinctly unimpressed. "What," Batman growls at her, "are  _you_  doing here?"

Talia arches a single eyebrow at him, every inch of her bearing that of a regal princess. "I," she responds, "am spending some quality time with my son."

Batman's frown grows more severe. "Damian is across the city," he says, and only someone who knows him well would be able to pick up on the very slight undercurrent of confusion in his voice.

Talia gives him a look that's a combination of amusement and exasperation. "Damian is not the only son I have in Gotham, beloved." She glances over at Jason with a small smile on her lips and he can't help but smile in response, although the expression is hidden by his helmet.

Bruce, meanwhile, looks like he swallowed a glass of pickle juice. "He is not your son," he tells Talia, every single syllable a growl.

Talia crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him, gaze sharp enough to cut. "That is not something you get a say in, beloved," she says matter-of-factly, her tone positively glacial, and Jason has a feeling that if she wasn't still at least a little in love with Bruce she'd already be calling him much less pleasant names.

"He's my son," Batman retorts sharply. "Of course I get a say."

"All due respect, B," Jason says, cutting into the conversation because he can see Talia's hand twitching towards the dagger at her waist, "but I am a grown-ass adult now so I think my opinion carries a bit more weight here. This doesn't mean you're not still my dad," he tacks on, and is rewarded by the shocked but pleased look that flits across Bruce's face before he buries it under the usual granite-faced stoicism. "But Talia's helped me through some serious shit, and I'm not just going to cut her out of my life because you don't like her."

"It's more than just not liking her, Hood," Batman replies. "She's a killer."

"So am I," Jason responds frankly.

"Not anymore," his father responds at once, and as gratifying as that response is (it's reassuring to know that Bruce does believe in Jason's ability to refrain from killing the criminals he apprehends) Jason can't help but roll his eyes.

"Talia didn't kill anyone tonight, either," he remarks. "Or did you not stop to check that before you rushed over here to pick a fight?"

Bruce scowls at him. "One night of restraint doesn't make up for a lifetime of assassinations. Multiple lifetimes, even."

Jason can feel a headache coming on. "You trained with the League, too, B, so can you stop acting like a sanctimonious prick for maybe just five minutes, please?" He shakes his head, deliberately ignoring the way that Talia was snickering at the look on Bruce's face (what little of it they can see under his cowl, of course). "Listen," he goes on, deciding that he might as well just be honest, "Talia's here because she's helping me out, okay?"

If anything, Batman's scowl deepens. "You don't need to resort to calling  _Talia_  if you need assistance, Hood. I'm here if you need help, as are the others."

Jason shakes his head. "Sorry, but none of you would have been able to help with this. It was Lazarus-related," he continues, overriding whatever Bruce had been about to say. "I was…having a bit of a…let's call it a flare-up," he explains, trying to pick the right words to downplay the situation while also getting the salient points across. "Talia came to keep an eye on me, to make sure I was fine. She has the most experience with the side-effects of the Lazarus Pit," he adds, because Bruce knows that, and logic is always a good way to gain some footing with him.

There's a long, long moment of silence while Bruce apparently processes this. Finally he speaks again, but his words aren't what Jason' expecting at all. "How did Talia know to come?" he asks. "Did you ask her to?"

Jason blinks at him. "What? No."

"He missed our weekly phone call," Talia adds helpfully, ignoring Jason's please-stop-talking glare. "It's not like him to blow me off, so I grew concerned and booked the first flight to Gotham." She fixes Bruce in a sharp look. "Also, beloved: If you try to make me leave Gotham before I am certain he is fully recovered from the Lazarus surge," she tells him calmly, "I will break both your arms and then throw you into a nettle bush."

Bruce looks mildly stupefied by this proclamation. "Why do you care about him so much?"

"Because he is my son," Talia replies, her tone brooking no argument. "And unlike  _some people_ ," the look she gives Bruce is is so pointed it's a wonder he's not physically impaled by it, "I support and love him unconditionally regardless of his past actions."

Jason has to swallow a laugh and turn it hastily into a cough, because he'd known that Talia hadn't been happy with some of the things Bruce and the others have done in response to Jason's behaviour over the years (Arkham Asylum being a very notable mention), but seeing her ire in person is an entirely different thing from simply knowing it existed. All things considered, it's probably some sort of miracle that Talia's not beating Bruce's ass into the pavement on general principle.

Bruce looked at her, then at Jason. And then back again. "…Fine," he says at last. "I'll allow it."

Talia's hand twitches towards her dagger again. "You'll allow it?" she echoes testily. " _Allow_  it? Your permission is not required," she tells him scathingly.

Jason doesn't bother masking his laugh this time, and only laughs harder when both of his surrogate parents turn to glower at him. "You guys are the most entertaining comedy routine for miles around, you know that?" He shakes his head. "Talia, B is an emotionally constipated ass-hat, you know that; don't let him rile you. And  _you_ ," he says, turning to Batman. "Stop picking fights with Talia. She could snap you in half without breaking a sweat and we both know it. Are you that eager to make me and the others brats orphans again?"

Bruce looks poleaxed for a brief moment, and then grudgingly nods in acceptance. "I apologize," he says to Talia through gritted teeth, "for my hostile reaction to the situation."

Talia gives dainty sniff that almost sends Jason off into another hysterical laughing fit. "Apology accepted," she replies. "Now shoo." She flutters a hand at him dismissively. "Our son is tired from our crime-fighting escapades this evening and I must get him home to rest."

Batman nods again, his stern countenance softening almost imperceptibly. "Good idea," he says, tone still gruff but minutely warmer than it had been just moments before. "…Make sure he eats something before he goes to sleep," he adds.

"Of course," Talia replies, turning to go.

"And good work on bringing down that drug ring," Batman calls out as Jason follows after his tigress of a surrogate mother. "You both handled it very efficiently."

Jason almost trips over his own two feet as his father grapples off into the night. "Was that actually a compliment?  _Praise_ , from the reticent Batman?" He shakes his head. "Tell me the truth: this is all a hallucination, isn't it? It must be, because there's no way that could have just happened."

Talia rolls her eyes and lightly cuffs him on the shoulder. "Stop blabbering and start parkouring," she tells him. "That medical soap opera starts in twenty minutes and if we miss the beginning I will not make you  _manakeesh_  for lunch tomorrow."

That's not a bluff that Jason's willing to call (because only a real idiot passes up on a chance for a mother's home-cooked food), so he does the smart thing and starts hustling across rooftops. "Last one back has to pay for tonight's pizza, though," he says, and doesn't bother holding in his laughter when Talia says "Deal," and then promptly passes him and bounds off into the night.

If someone had asked him as a kid whether or not Talia al Ghul was a good mother, he'd have asked them if they were thinking of someone else. But as it turns out….

As it turns out, Talia is a pretty damn great mom, overprotective assassin instincts and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! I hope you guys enjoyed that Mom!Talia ficlet! I certainly had a tremendous amount of fun with it, so thanks again to rpglady76 for the inspiration and support. <3 Things didn't turn out exactly like I planned (I was originally going to have Talia kick Bruce's ass, for example, but no matter how I wrote it I couldn't get it to feel right, so I had to scrap it, lol) but I had a great time writing this regardless, so I'm glad I had the chance to do it. :D
> 
> Anyway, for those of you wondering: yes, I am absolutely planning to do more fics in this series. The next few are probably going to coincide with Batfam Week 2018, which runs from July 29th to August 4th . I don't know if I'll manage to churn out a ficlet for every single day, but I've already got ideas for four out of seven days so far, so that's a pretty good start, lol. ;D See you soon!


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